


The Abyss Gazes Also

by Snowgrouse



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Bisexuality, F/M, M/M, Multi, PWP, Telepathy, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-30
Updated: 2007-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowgrouse/pseuds/Snowgrouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master indulges in a nice spot of Doctortorture, bringing Lucy with him. Threesome smut ahoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Abyss Gazes Also

**Author's Note:**

> Pure indulgent PWP pr0n, with the usual stream-of-consciousness prose of doom. And yes, Lucy is canonically "not very bright", so some of the groanworthiness is deliberate.

He's on the top of the world. He can do whatever he bloody well likes, now. And it's good.

On a whim, he holds a jelly baby between his teeth and feeds it to Lucy, who murmurs appreciatively.

Another whim involves playing with time itself again, just by pushing a button on his screwdriver, and he claps his hands with glee as the Doctor grows young again, gasping and writhing on the floor as he's made anew.

The Master reaches with his mind into to the Doctor's and sees what he can find there, exploring all the different thoughts flying through the Doctor's mind. A jumbled mess, to be sure, so the Master pierces it with a thought of his own. An assertion of his power, telling the Doctor that he can do whatever he likes to him now, and yes, that can be exactly as filthy as it sounds, how nice of him to notice that.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Doctor?"

//In fact, centuries since someone stroked your mind like this with their own, is it not? Someone who knows all the right places to touch?//

"I'm begging you. Please. There's still time for you to stop this."

The Master tilts his head and mock-frowns. What he can sense now is too precious not to be shared with everyone else in the room.

"Why should I do a thing like that? I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

//Not when I am sure that you still enjoy it when I do *this*.//

Of course, he is right--at that particular mind-lick, the Doctor draws in a sharp breath, his eyes fly wide and he has to lean his hand against a wall for balance. The Master can see the Doctor's face flushing, and when he walks up to him, casually, just brushing the front of the Doctor's trousers with his hand, the chunky ring dragging across the Doctor's cock through the cloth--ah, the sight of the Doctor confused, aroused, conflicted is just *precious*. Especially when the hostages are watching--he doesn't need telepathy to sense the Doctor's embarrassment.

Oh, yes. This particular whim needs to be indulged thoroughly.

"As much as I'm enjoying the audience, don't you think we perhaps should withdraw somewhere more quiet? I think I know just the place."

***

Lucy, sweet Lucy is standing beside him, smiling as he shackles the Doctor to the bars of the Paradox Machine, checking the locks with careful fingers, the only sound the unearthly hum of the alien machinery, the clink of cuffs against metal and the Doctor's unsteady breathing as the Master stands back and surveys his work.

"Not bad. He's bit on the skinny side, though. Don't you think so, my dear?"

He beckons to Lucy, and she brushes the Doctor's jaw with her fingertips, tentatively at first, and when the Master grins, she draws her nails down the Doctor's neck and assesses him from head to toe.

"Not as handsome as you, Harry, but not entirely... unappealing."

The Master laughs and puts his arm around her waist, nuzzling her ear.

"Oh, don't worry; I'll let you have a taste. After all, it'd be rude not to share."

She laughs like a little girl, eyes aglow with excitement. The Master approaches the Doctor again, leaning against the Paradox Machine, bracketing the Doctor's face with his hands, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin where their lips are nearly touching.

"Cat got your tongue, Doctor?"

He doesn't wait for the Doctor to reply, instead he insinuates another curl of thought into his mind, telling him exactly what he wants, detailed images of all the scenarios imaginable and then some; the Doctor on his knees,on his back, on all fours... and in every one, burning and pleading for more, hanging onto the Master's every word, every touch. The Doctor's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, he grits his teeth, straining against his bonds to no avail, the Master's laughter purring in his ear, mocking him.

"I know. I *know*! I'm having trouble choosing myself! That's why I'm leaving the choice up to you."

He places his hands on the Doctor's chest, rejoicing in the rapid heartsbeat. He whispers into the Doctor's mouth.

"What's it to be? Tell me."

The Doctor turns his face away, refusing to meet the Master's eyes.

"Don't do this. We can both walk away from this, and you know it. We don't need it to be like this any more."

The Master strokes the Doctor's crotch again--he has grown hard, is growing harder still.

"Mm. Liar. You missed being humiliated."

The Doctor doesn't answer that. The Master grabs a good handful and *squeezes*.

//I could make this so good for you. You know that you'll submit to me in the end, why put up a fight? Because you can't face yourself otherwise? Admit it, Doctor. Admit that you draw pleasure from being controlled by your true Master.//

"Well, Doctor?"

"I... I..."

The Master turns the squeeze into a deceptively soft caress.

"Yes?"

The Doctor draws in a deep breath and meets the Master's eyes--the Doctor has the most beautiful look on his face. It's an expression the Master has seen before--determination and vulnerability at the same time, still some defiance left there, but giving in just enough to humour the Master--perhaps hoping to get the Master on his side, perhaps because of his damned optimism, or perhaps because he merely has a taste for danger, for the razor's edge. The Doctor sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Fine. If it really makes you that happy. Backwards, forwards, upside down, sideways, as long as you get *on* with it."

"You always were a greedy little sod, Doctor."

The Master flicks a switch on his laser screwdriver and deftly slashes through the Doctor's coat and shirt, pooling them around the Doctor's ankles.

"I like the tie."

He fondles it sensually, lost in thought for a brief moment.

"Silk, is it? A good choice for strength and durability."

He tugs on it experimentally.

"Always thought you looked best on a leash."

Lucy covers her mouth with her hand, suppressing a giggle.

The Master doesn't even notice; he is too busy brushing the Doctor's lips with his own, nipping at them with his teeth, insinuating his way in with small, quick licks. He smiles at the Doctor's eager response, then pulls away, teasing, with his finger on the Doctor's lips.

"What did I tell you about greed, Theta? That's what I like about you--you remind me of me."

The Doctor turns his face away, baring his teeth.

"Bastard."

"*Language!*"

The Master undoes the Doctor's tie and gags him with it.

"There, that's better. You need to learn some respect."

He starts undressing and nods to Lucy.

"Ladies first."

She grins more broadly than is proper for a lady of good breeding, and wastes no time in ridding the Doctor of his trousers. She wrinkles her nose at the Y-fronts for a second, but smiles again at what she finds underneath, measuring it with her hand.

"My! Are all the men of your planet so well-endowed?"

The Master is now beside her, both of them on their knees on the rumpled-up remains of the Doctor's clothing, sharing a brief kiss. He runs his fingertips down the Doctor's shaft while she cups his balls in her hand, reaching to stroke the Master's cock with the other.

"Why, he's almost as impressive as you are, my dear."

"*Nobody* could be as impressive as I am. But I have to admit, he has improved with age."

This time, the kiss they share is longer, both of Lucy's arms around the Master's neck, both of them deliberately leaning against the Doctor's crotch, barely touching him with straying tongues now and then. The Doctor grunts and tilts his hips as far as he can, but the Master merely breathes heat onto his cock and smiles.

"Good things come to those who wait."

He turns away to unbutton Lucy's blouse, one hand unfastening her bra, one up her skirt, cupping his hand over her pussy, the lace of her knickers damp with excitement. She squeals as his fingers slide up and down, rubbing the fabric against her clit. He glances at the Doctor.

"See how well-behaved she is? She deserves my attention."

He makes a show of licking his fingers clean, then brushes them over the sensitive skin behind the Doctor's knee.

"She deserves *this*."

He squeezes his own cock and brings Lucy's head down, and she gets to work, skirt riding up and her arse in the air, swaying with her movements. The Master closes his eyes and throws his head back--he's trained her well, and there's no reason why the Doctor should miss any of the detail, so he sends another curl of thought into the Doctor's mind, the exact sensations of lips, tongue and throat, so the Doctor can feel as if he was doing it himself, wearing Lucy's body. And indeed, when the Master opens his eyes he sees the Doctor has closed his, makes gagging sounds, his mouth stretched wide and wet, tilting his jaw just so, Adam's apple bobbing to the same rhythm as Lucy's head, the silk tie wet with saliva. The Master groans with delight, drunk with power, his head spinning with it all. He has to grab Lucy by the hair--he knows she enjoys that, too--just to stop from coming too soon, and he cradles her face in his hands and kisses her again, licking the taste of himself from her mouth, then finally lets go of her, and of the Doctor's mind. The Doctor sighs heavily and his heads slumps to his chest, his hair damp with sweat. The Master rises to his feet and strokes the Doctor's cheek, untying the gag.

"Ahh. Look at you. And I haven't even started yet."

He tilts the Doctor's chin up and presses his crotch against the Doctor's, cock coming to rest in the curve of his hip.

"Or are you telling me you couldn't handle the real thing?"

The Doctor snarls and snaps his teeth.

"It looks as if you're the one who can't."

The Doctor narrows his eyes.

"Oh, you can talk, talk, talk, cop a feel so you can show off, but when it comes to the real thing... you always were a coward."

The Master slaps him, hard, the sound ringing in the room, Lucy flinching at the noise. He presses the Doctor against the warm metal, hand at his throat. His voice lowers into a hiss, the hunger in his eyes has changed, and he doesn't care if there's desperation in his words or in the tremble of his hands.

"You don't even *know* what I want. You never have."

Because deep down inside, it scares even him. So he masks it as lust, anything to cover up the yawning darkness inside him, where the only sound is the echo of endless drums, where the only light that ever penetrates the dark is the Doctor's cursed optimism, that joy of life that's so alien to the Master, so illogical, yet so fascinating, the glowing warmth that makes fools of men and moths, beckoning to him, century after century. So he drowns thoughts like this in power and flesh, makes his own emptiness a singularity into which everything must fall; again, he becomes the devourer.

"I'll let you in on a secret, Theta"--he lines their cocks up, gripping them in his fist, his precome mixing with the Doctor's as he slides his hand up and down, slowly and firmly--"I'd let you fuck me. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To feel what it's like to be inside me, to feel my legs around your waist. Your cock all the way in, so hot and so tight, so deep your balls touch my arse..." and he kisses the moans from the Doctor's mouth.

"I'd be on my knees for you, if that's what it takes... or on my back so you could see me when you're fuck me. You could let go, let all that power wash over you, ride it as you ride me, and not care. Oh, I think that's *your* dirty secret as well."

And the Doctor groans, shaking, pulling against his chains, and they both know he is so close now, the slightest touch could make him come, if the Master just stroked him one more time...

...so, of course, he doesn't.

"See? We're not so different after all."

He casts an admiring glance over the Doctor's body, and Lucy, who's stripped off and is now leaning against the Doctor, standing on her toes for a brief second to taste the Doctor's neck, playing with herself, blissfully unaware of the history the two men share but enjoying herself nevertheless. The Master has always liked his women ruthless and uncomplicated, and decides to reward Lucy again for being just that. He presses her against the machine, just out of the Doctor's reach, raises one of her legs to his waist and enters her, easily--she's so wet she's dripping onto her thighs, soft and hot and trembling. He moans as she squeezes him, urging him on, staring into his eyes, trusting, so open, the complete opposite of the Doctor, rejoicing in the perverse even if she doesn't fully understand it, just does it instinctively, because that's her nature--and fuck, it's good, and he's laughing with every thrust, especially when she starts making those little gasps in the back of her throat, gulping for air the way she does when she's near orgasm--and for a moment, he goes blind with the pleasure as she unravels around him, on him, grinding her hips against him, both legs around his waist now, both of them loud and uninhibited, even more so because they know the Doctor sees it *all*. The Master has to let go, has to let her slump back, gasping, and her perfect smile almost makes him come too soon, and he has to squeeze the root of his cock and groan, pausing for breath.

Still dizzy from lust, he picks up his screwdriver again, undoing the cuff on one of the Doctor's wrists, bringing the wrist to his mouth, loving the Doctor's yelp as he marks the pale skin with his teeth.

Yet, the Doctor doesn't protest, doesn't take advantage of the situation, and somehow that angers the Master even more. He re-cuffs the Doctor against his precious machine, pushing his face against the perforated metal, just so he can feel the electric hum of the TARDIS, louder now, responding to the three of them. Why the hell is he so quiet? The Master pushes harder, pressing the tip of his cock to the cleft of the Doctor's arse.

"No last protests?"

He slides into the Doctor's mind again, looking for that elusive warmth, dragging out memories of the Prydonian gardens and teenagers and first, fumbling kisses, the taste of stolen beer, excitement and the scent of flowers in bloom... ah, yes, that does it, the Doctor stirs, pushing back reflexively, the way he did then. His voice is trembling, because that boy never died. And that boy still wants him, as much as he did so long ago.

"Just... do it."

The Master licks the sweat on his neck and strokes his sides.

"You'll have to ask me nicely."

"Please."

The Master is still wet from Lucy, so it isn't difficult to push just the tip of his cock inside the Doctor. It's far more difficult to not go any further, far more difficult to keep his own voice stern and commanding.

"Use my name."

The Doctor sounds as if he's on the verge of tears, that's how much his voice is shaking. It's a whisper, it's a prayer, and it's never lost hope.

"Master."

The Master thrusts inside him before the second syllable, he can't wait a moment longer, and it's bliss. Finally, finally there, that fantastic glow again, and everything is perfect, everything is made whole. Heartsbeat drowning out the drums in his head, tracing the constellations of freckles on the Doctor's back with tongue and fingers as if navigating a way home, the Master finds what he once lost, swallows it all greedily, violently, so much that he's making himself raw, that's how good it is, just *there*, and the Doctor whispers his name again, and they both know he means it. For a brief moment, the Master has what he wants, living and breathing and hot and yearning against him, on him, grinding back onto his prick, and he rules all that he surveys, and that is everything and more, he has captured the light and comes, pouring himself inside the Doctor, slamming deep into him, unable to stop, because the Doctor is there just for him and nobody else, just his, his alone, and he roars his ecstasy to the world, to the humming heat of the TARDIS around him, to the adoring Lucy, triumphant and glowing and *complete*.

He lays his weight on the Doctor, panting, remembering to breathe again, his heartsbeat still thumping in his ears, and he smiles against the sweat of the Doctor's back, hears the Doctor groaning deep in his chest, and feels stickiness on his hands.

"I aim to please."

Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, because he's full of pride and glee, assuming that the Doctor must've climaxed from simply being used, being humiliated, because he knows his Master once and for all.

Or that's what he likes to tell himself, at least. The Doctor is still quiet, and that irritates him. Semen isn't enough, he wants to be adored in words. He withdraws, wincing as the soreness makes itself known, and makes a point of dressing quickly, deliberately leaving the Doctor naked. Lucy's already dressed, clothes and hair immaculate as if she'd only been taking a brisk walk, yet her smile doesn't warm the Master the way it usually does. It's as if he's just been offered a feast, yet still feels hungry. He sneers and twists his hand in the Doctor's hair, forcing him to face him.

"Not even a thank you?"

The look in the Doctor's eyes is familiar to him. It's that disgusting expression that says he's *sorry*, it's a despicable show of *pity*. The Master can't even bring himself to hit the Doctor again, he just snarls in disgust and turns away, wrapping his arm around Lucy's waist.

She looks at him, questioning, visibly restless. She glances at her Rolex.

"Darling... I think we are keeping someone waiting."

"Yes."

He straightens his tie, not looking at either of them.

"Yes, I think we are."

Let them find the Doctor naked and chained, with come dripping down his thigh; the bastard deserves it.

In the back of his mind, a voice is nagging that "them" might very well be the cavalry.

It always is.

By the time the Master closes the TARDIS doors behind him, the thundering drums are back, louder than ever before.

***  
End


End file.
